


Changing Fate

by aquestiontotheworld



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquestiontotheworld/pseuds/aquestiontotheworld
Summary: Brom had failed to save Selena - the least he could do was to look after her son. As Brom attempts to raise Murtagh as his own, war is covering up on the horizon, and keeping his ward safe might not be as easy as he first thought.





	1. Chapter 1

Brom knew this was a bad idea as soon as he left Morzan’s mansion with the child in front of him on the saddle. He should turn back and leave the boy behind – there was still time, after all. Brining Morzan’s son with him would only cause problems, and if Brom had any sanity left he would turn his horse around. However, his conscience wouldn’t allow him. Memories of Selena’s heartbroken cries after Morzan had thrown his sword at her son were still crystal clear. Her desperate pleas of help rang clearly in Brom’s head, even though it had been months ago. The way she had grabbed his arm, asking him to heal her only son and save him from certain death – there was no way he could forget it.  
“Please help him,” she had whispered, as Murtagh slowly bled out on the floor.   
How could he possibly abandon the boy now? Brom glanced down at the boy, who sat quietly in front of him. He hadn’t spoken a word since Brom placed him on the horse, and the former Rider could sense that he was afraid. And why shouldn’t he be? The child had known little but fear in his short life, but hopefully he was finally safe. Morzan was gone, and Brom would be damned if he let Galbatorix get his hands on Selena’s son. Brom had been too late to save her, but it wasn’t too late to save Murtagh.  
The decision to kidnap Murtagh before the king had the chance to send for him had been quickly made. After Brom had raced to Morzan’s estate only to find his beloved Selena already passed away, he knew the only place she could have left her youngest child – his child – was with her brother. At first he planned to leave alone, but once he overheard from gossiping servants that Morzan’s son would soon leave for the capital he turned around and made his way to the child’s chambers. Murtagh had already been through hell once. He did not deserve to be left at the mercy of a madman.  
Convincing Murtagh to come with him had been easier than anticipated. “You know my mother”, the three-year-old had plainly stated. “You helped me when I was hurt.”  
Brom had nodded. “Yes, and your mother wants you to come with me,” he replied, leaving out the part where the boy’s mother was no longer breathing. “But you have to hurry.”  
Murtagh hesitated for a moment, then complied and followed the former Rider. The estate had been in chaos, giving that both the Lord’s and the Lady’s recent and unexpected passing, and smuggling the child out hadn’t been too hard. It didn’t take long until they were both seated on Brom’s horse and left the estate behind them.  
Travelling with a child, Brom discovered, was far more difficult than riding on his own. The pace was slower, as the three-year-old didn’t have the stamina for a long and hard gallop. There was also Murtagh’s injury to consider. Too much movement still caused him pain, which called for many stops along the way. Brom was anxious, wanting to reach Carvahall and his new born child as soon as possible, but forced himself to lengthen the journey even further by only using small, crooked trails and staying far away from the main roads. News must have reached the king that his would-be ward was missing, and Brom would not take the chance of running into his soldiers.   
Few words were spoken between the two companions, Murtagh preferring to ride in silence. Sometimes Brom managed to coax more than a couple words from him, but the boy seemed uncomfortable during these times, not used to being at the centre of attention and afraid of taking up too much space. Brom’s heart ached for him, and swore to himself that he would do anything in his power to teach the child how to trust.  
The only instance where Murtagh was the one to begin the conversation was a late evening by the camp-fire, where Brom was currently preparing tonight’s dinner.   
“Where is my mother?” His voice was uncertain, as if he were not entirely sure if he wanted an answer. “You said that you know her. Where is she?”  
Brom had dreaded the question, not knowing how to bring up the news of Selena’s death. Slowly he walked over to the boy and sat down next to him, ignoring the way Murtagh stiffened. He had gotten used to Brom being close while riding, but still shied away otherwise.   
“Your mother has been very ill,” Brom began. “She has gone to another place, and won’t be coming back.” How did you explain death to a three-year-old? Brom could see how the child struggled to take in the words.  
“Like my father?” he then asked. “The maid said he was in another place too.”  
Brom nodded, carefully watching Murtagh’s expressions. He seemed confused, sad, and relieved at the same time. Brom had expected a worse reaction, but had to remind himself that Murtagh hardly knew his mother at all.  
“Will you be looking after me now?” This was the first time the child had looked directly at Brom, his grey eyes big and expression cautious.   
“Of course I will,” Brom assured him. “I’m going to take care of you.”  
The child didn’t respond, but a slight smile tugged at his lips and when the night came he no longer seemed scared of Brom's presence.

By the time they reached Carvahall Murtagh had turned four years old. Brom had enough coins to by themselves a small house in the village, and presented himself as a grieving widower who wanted to restart his life together with his young son. Murtagh played along after Brom warned him about how dangerous it was to mention the name of Morzan, the king, or the estate.   
“We don’t want your father’s friends to come looking for us,” he said, and Murtagh hurriedly agreed.   
Adjusting to the small village was a bit of a challenge, but they made do. Slowly but surely they begun to settle in, and Brom took pleasure in seeing how Murtagh got more at ease every day. He did not enjoy meeting strangers, but Brom knew that the foundation of trust had been established, and that the damage Morzan had caused would lessen in time.  
Meeting his own son for the first time was a trial he could never have prepared for. Little Eragon was not hard to track down – after all, only one mysterious sister had returned to Carvahall, given birth and disappeared as quickly. The child was the centre of the village gossip, and Brom soon found himself face to face with his young son. He had decided from the start not to get Eragon involved in his messy life, and once he saw Garrow and Marian fussing over the infant there was no way he could claim the boy as his own. Eragon would grow up in a good, loving family, and hopefully never get involved with rebellions, dragons, or insane kings. Brom’s heart was ripped in two as he wished the family good luck and left his son behind, but knowing Murtagh was waiting for him at home eased the pain.


	2. Chapter 2

As the years went by raising Murtagh became more difficult. The more he grew, the more striking his resemblance to Morzan became. Every smirk, every offhand comment reminded Brom of the days before the Fall, of the days he had considered Morzan a brother. With those memories came the bitter grief of his betrayal, and sometimes Brom truly wished he had never went back for Murtagh. The way he spoke, the way he laughed and even the way he moved brought the memories back, but since Murtagh also reminded Brom of Selena the pain was worth it. The boy had a smile so genuine and eyes that shone so bright when he laughed that Brom managed to see past the image of his father. There were other differences as well that made Brom’s doubts lessen. While Morzan had acted like he owned the world, Murtagh lacked his overconfidence and was more reversed. He was more cautious than Morzan had ever been, and preferred to linger in the background.  
They never discussed their past, not truly. Both liked to avoid the subject and not bringing up painful memories. However, they could never escape it entirely even in death Morzan continued to hang over them as an agonising reminder of everything they had lost. Even though Murtagh had been very young when his parents died, Morzan and his crimson blade remained vivid in his memory, the fear never completely gone.   
Brom spent his days teaching his ward the ways of the sword, bow, and spear. He was not naïve enough to believe that he could keep Murtagh safe for very long – he needed to be able to defend himself. In addition to weapons training, he also showed Murtagh how to fortify and defend his mind. The boy was a natural. Once he got the hang of it he could keep most people out, and Brom was certain that with enough training even he wouldn’t be able to break through Murtagh’s defences. One subject they avoided, however, was magic. Brom had no doubt that the boy would excel in that area as well, considering his mother’s skill, but some part of Brom couldn’t fully trust him. Magic and power was part of what caused Morzan’s downfall, and Brom didn’t want to give Murtagh the chance to give in to the temptations.  
Brom had taken Murtagh for Selena’s sake, but as time passed he realised that he wasn’t only taking care of him for her sake anymore – he was doing it for Murtagh. Despite the similarities between the boy and his father, Brom couldn’t help but to care for him. He looked after the boy when he was sick, showed him how to hunt on his own, taught him right from wrong. They were becoming family, whether they had intended to or not.   
At the same time Brom watched Eragon grow from afar. He took on the role of the village storyteller and thus his son visited once in a while, often accompanied by his older cousin. Watching his son struggle with not knowing who his parents were or why they left him behind was trying, but Brom never doubted his decision. Eragon was safe with his uncle, so that was where he was going to stay.  
Murtagh on the other hand took to spending time with his unknown brother and cousin, since there were few children his age in Carvahall. Seeing them together was like travelling back in time – Brom could easily picture himself and Morzan messing around with each other at that age. He wished that the boys could have a chance to grow up together as brothers should, but had to be satisfied with letting them meet when Eragon came into the village.  
Brom knew Murtagh could sense that he was dwelling on the past, and tried to hide it for the boy’s sake. Growing up was hard enough without the shadow of his father constantly hanging over him. To distract both of them Brom brought his ward on numerous hunting trips, and occasionally ventured to Therinsford to run errands. Murtagh often complained that they could probably find the things they needed in Carvahall, but Brom insisted on leaving the village every so often.  
By the time of Murtagh’s tenth birthday, he and Brom found themselves on one of these errand runs. Brom had given him permission to point out a gift for himself in the marketplace, even though Murtagh had shaken his head and multiple times stated that he didn’t want Brom to spend unnecessary money on him. They were far from poor, but Brom’s coins wouldn’t last forever. Brom eventually gave in, although he declared that he would buy Murtagh something anyways as soon as they returned to Carvahall. Murtagh’s only response was a roll of his eyes.  
As they made their way back they happened upon the stable of Haberth, the notorious horse-breeder of Therinsford. Murtagh paused as they passed, eyeing the creatures bound outside the building. Brom, suddenly reminded of the boy’s love of horses, grinned and started walking toward the stable.  
“What are you doing?” Murtagh called out, and followed him after a moment of hesitation.  
“I’ve got an idea”, came the smug reply. “Stay here, I’ll be right back!”  
Murtagh sighed, but complied. Brom’s idea of “right back” turned out to be quite a long while, and when Brom appeared again Murtagh was almost asleep on his feet.  
“It was quite hard to get Haberth to part with him”, Brom said, startling Murtagh. He was leading a magnificent, grey, long-legged foal. “Apparently he wanted to breed him further down the line. His name is Snowfire.”  
Brom proudly handed over the leading rope to his wide eyed ward, who studied the foal with a stunned expression. “He’ll be completely white once he’s grown,” Brom continued. “I trust you will take good care of him?”  
Murtagh regained the ability to speak, and nodded violently. “Of course I will! Thank you, he is gorgeous, but how did you afford…” Brom silenced the boy by raising his hand.   
“Good. It’s been a long day, and it’s time to return home, don’t you think?” he said before heading back to Carvahall.

Over the years both Murtagh and Snowfire grew, and once the horse turned three Brom taught Murtagh how to ride him. He had ridden Brom’s previous horse sometimes, but it had passed away due to old age before Murtagh was old enough to ride on his own. On Snowfire, Murtagh felt free. He could go wherever he wanted, as fast as he wanted. Snowfire had an incredible stamina and outran the other village horses easily. Once the stallion had been broken in, Murtagh spent more time in the saddle than out of it, driving Brom mad with worry by disappearing into the woods for hours. In the end, Brom could not have given him a better gift. Not only did he give Murtagh a sense of freedom, but also a close friend that he truly had needed.   
Despite all the struggles, Brom stopped regretted taking Murtagh in. Things were far from easy, but they had become family.


	3. Chapter 3

Durza growled impatiently. So close. They had been so close to recovering the stolen dragon egg from the elves, but the incompetent urgals had let the last one escape. He took a deep breath. For eleven years he had been tracking the egg, and now, once he’d finally found it, he had lost it. Galbatorix’s rage would know no limits, and Durza could only pray that he wouldn’t be summoned back to Urû’baen anytime soon. Since the disappearance of both the egg and Morzan’s son the king had been relentless in his attempts at locating them, and he would not take kindly to failure.   
At least they had managed to slay two of the elves and separate the third one from the egg. Their task now was to find out where she had sent it. It would be difficult, but everything leaves traces. Durza would not fail a second time.  
“Send for the Ra’zac,” he barked at the nearest urgal. “We have work to do.”

Brom had been out hunting in the Spine when he heard the loud bang echoing through the woods. The noise had frightened the deer which had disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving Brom without any game to bring back to the house. Warily the former Rider drew a dagger, cursing himself for not bringing a more dangerous weapon. Although the air was heavy with magic he couldn’t sense anyone close by. With careful movements Brom started walking towards the place where the noise had been heard, never letting his guard down.   
The egg. Brom’s eyes widened as he recognized the sapphire object lying on the ground in front of him. The dragon egg, which had caused him so much trouble, and that he considered one of his greatest contributions to the Varden. He had chased it over half the country, first in the hands of the Varden thief and then Morzan. It was thanks to the egg their last and bloody battle had taken place, and Brom could see it in front of him as clearly as if it had been yesterday.  
Slowly Brom bent down and picked up the egg. It should have been with Arya – if she had sent it here she had to be in trouble. Suddenly realising the severity of the situation, Brom sprung around and hurried back the way he came. The Varden needed to be contacted, and Arya might be in the need of help.  
Once Brom reached the closest source of water – a small creek that eventually ran out in the Igualda Falls – he knelt and placed the egg on the rocks beside him.   
“Draumr kópa,” he murmured. An image of Arya appeared, looking tired but mostly unharmed. Relief surged through the old Rider, and after a few more words he was able to make contact with the elf, who quickly told him about the ambush.  
“Fäolin and Glenwing are dead,” she said. “I had no choice but to send the egg to you.”  
“You did the right thing,” Brom assured her. “Tell me about the urgals.”  
Arya got an uncomfortable expression when she said: “They seemed to be completely under Durza’s control. We didn’t stand a chance.”  
“That is most troubling,” Brom mused. “If Galbatorix has taken to using urgals, he must be planning something.”  
Arya nodded gravely. They continued their discussion for a few minutes before the elf had to continue her journey. “Durza is still looking for me,” she reminded him. “I will travel to Carvahall myself to recover the egg. It shouldn’t take too many weeks to reach you.”  
Brom nodded. “Contact me before you arrive and I will meet you at an appropriate location.”  
Arya raised an eyebrow. “Not at your house? Is there something you don’t want me to see?”  
The old man shrugged. “I prefer to keep my secrets to myself.”  
The elf had an amused glimmer in her eyes when she responded. “As you wish.”  
Brom quickly bade the elven princess goodbye before she inquired further. While the Varden knew he was in hiding, he had avoided to inform them about the teenager living under his roof. Somehow he doubted that they would appreciate him taking in the son of Morzan.   
Brom sighed and rose to his feet. Keeping the egg hidden from Murtagh in their tiny home would be a challenge, but he did not want the boy involved. Soon Arya would have collected the egg and be on her way. There was no need to worry him.

If Murtagh suspected anything during the following weeks he did not show it. Brom tried his best to act as usual, even though he almost was crawling out of his skin. He knew Arya could take care of herself, but Durza was a dangerous opponent and Brom could only hope that the elf managed to stay out of his claws. He didn’t dare contact her again in case she had been rediscovered, so all he could do was wait.  
When she finally did contact him Brom was nearly climbing the walls. The trip had gone smoothly with no interruptions, and the elf was certain that she had managed to get Durza to lose her trail. “I haven’t seen a sign of him,” she said. “But I’ll put up extra wards to be safe.”  
They set up a meeting point half a day’s ride from Carvahall, and Brom told Murtagh that he had to leave on urgent business in Therinsford. The boy offered to come along, and seemed surprised when Brom immediately refused.   
“I’ll take Snowfire,” Brom said. “He’s too young to carry us both, so I’m afraid you’ll have to stay at home.”  
Murtagh accepted his answer, even though he shot Brom a doubting look.   
“Fine. If you don’t want to tell me then don’t,” he replied before turning his back against the older man.  
Brom shrugged and mounted the white stallion, the egg lying secured in the saddle bag. He’d have to make it up to Murtagh once he got back, but right now that wasn’t his biggest concern. With one final look over his shoulder Brom spurred Snowfire into a gallop and had soon left Carvahall far behind.

 

Irritable as the creatures were, the Ra’zac had served their purpose and had successfully tracked the elf to the middle of Palancar Valley. Durza was pleased; despite the previous setback they were close to capturing the elf, and hopefully the dragon egg along with it. He had to stop himself from enjoying the victory in advance, reminding himself that things still could go wrong, no matter how slim the chance. The shade nearly didn’t have time to finish the thought until they encountered their next obstacle – the elf’s tracks seemed to have vanished into thin air. Durza let out a howl of frustration, ignoring the vicious clicking sounds from the Ra’zac. He did not know what spell the elf used to keep herself hidden, and he didn’t have enough time to stop and try to figure it out.  
“She is being more careful,” he muttered. “We must be close.”  
He glanced up towards the mountain range. There were few things in this part of the Spine besides wild and unforgiving nature. The shade could only assume that the elf was headed for Carvahall, so he spurred his horse forward along the road towards the village. Gods help him if he was wrong.  
Reaching Carvahall took less time than he had predicted. Nothing had tried to interfere with either his or the Ra’zac’s entrance to the village, and once they had made their way through the main road Durza had not been able to pick up anything out of the ordinary. No matter how skilled the elf was in the ways of magic the shade should be able to sense if she was close. With an irritated frown Durza closed his eyes and reached out even further with his mind, focusing on finding even the smallest disturbance. Just as he prepared to give up the search something drew his interest. It wasn’t the elf – it wasn’t even magical. However, the presence felt familiar in an odd way. The shade’s frown deepened, this time with confusion. He knew that mind, he was sure of it.

Murtagh knew something was wrong when he heard the front door being opened. It was late in the afternoon – Brom shouldn’t be back for hours. As silent as possible he rolled of the bed where he had been laying reading, and grabbed the knife that was hidden under his bed. The swords Brom kept were hidden in the former Rider’s bedroom, and there was no way he could reach them without being discovered. Before he had time to make a decision the door to his room flew open, and Murtagh took a leap backwards to avoid being hit by it. He glanced up, and felt himself tense by fear. In the doorway stood a tall man with hair as red as blood and a wicked grin, but what drew Murtagh’s attention the most was the dead, maroon eyes. The creature looked like death itself. A shade.  
“Oh, how long I’ve been looking for you!” the shade said, spreading his arms. “Imagine my surprise when I entered Carvahall to find a dragon’s egg but sensed your presence instead. Your kidnappers really should do a better job at keeping you hidden.”  
Murtagh gripped the knife tighter and backed further away. “Who are you? What do you want?” he asked, already knowing the answer.  
The red-haired man seemed offended by the question. “Why, I am your rescuer of course. I’ve come to take you away from this dreadful pla-“  
He didn’t have time to finish the sentence as the boy threw himself at the shade, the knife aimed at the chest. The attack was blocked with an ease that shocked Murtagh, and before he even had time to react the creature had pulled out his sword and flung Murtagh to the ground.   
“The king doesn’t want me to hurt you,” he growled, holding the tip of the sword at the boy’s throat. “But I will if you tempt me.”  
Murtagh stared at him, fear building up inside. He twitched as two black hooded creatures showed up behind the shade, looking even more terrifying than the red-haired nightmare. Long, sharp beaks stuck out beneath their hoods and the hands that grabbed him were more claw-like than human. Murtagh struggled as the creatures pulled him to his feet, but they hardly seemed to notice it. The shade watched with amusement as the dark creatures dragged him outside. The boy tried to fight as his hands were bound behind his back, but the resistance was pointless.   
“Continue the search for the egg,” the shade ordered the creatures, then he flashed a grin at his captive. “We’re going to see the king.”


	4. Chapter 4

Murtagh didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. The days passed in a half-awake blur since the shade preferred to keep him asleep for the journey, only waking him up to force some food down his throat. During the first of these occasions Murtagh had struggled to break free of the ropes tied around his wrists, but had soon realised that it was pointless. Even if he could get out of the bonds he was no match for the shade, especially while unarmed.  
Brom will find me, was the thought he clang to, determined not to lose hope. Brom had saved him from the king once before. He could do it again.  
As the days went by and turned into weeks, however, his faith started to weaken. They were in the heart of the Empire now, and there had been no sign of the former Rider. The shade had been accompanied by a group of soldiers who escorted them closer to the king, and Murtagh’s chances of escaping seemed smaller every day.   
They entered the capital in the dead of night. Murtagh didn’t remember much of it – the shade had kept him firmly under a magic-induced sleep.   
Murtagh woke up on a grand, incredibly soft bed that would have made the villagers of Carvahall green with envy. His hands were no longer tied behind his back, and even though his head was pounding he felt more awake than he had in weeks. Slowly Murtagh sat up and took in the surroundings. The chamber was big and luxurious, as well as completely made in stone. The furniture was beautifully carved and the hard floor was covered with expensive-looking rugs.  
“Ah, I see that you’re finally awake.”  
Murtagh flinched at the sudden voice. He had been too occupied studying the room to have noticed the dark figure in the corner, who rose from his chair and made his way over to the bed.  
Murtagh had always pictured the king as an old, terrifying-looking man with grey hair, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. The man standing in front of him appeared to be forty years old at the most, and the smile on his lips made him seem both friendly and charming. If not for the crown resting on his head Murtagh wouldn’t have made the connection.   
As the king approached the boy could practically hear his heartbeat quickening. He tried to back away, but the wall behind him prevented it.  
“No need to be frightened,” said Galbatorix as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I was when I heard that you’d been found. I assure you, the people responsible for your kidnapping will be punished. The hardships you must have endured…”  
He extended a hand towards Murtagh to embrace him, but the boy slapped it away.  
“Get away from me!” he growled, the fear gone. When the king made no movement the boy leapt out of the bed, frantically looking for something to use as a weapon. A candlestick would have to do.  
The king rose to his feet, eyebrows arched. “Is that really a way to talk to your rescuer?”   
Murtagh glared at him, refusing to respond.  
“It seems no one has bothered to teach you any manners. How disappointed your father would be if he knew how you were behaving.”  
“Don’t talk to me about him!” Murtagh snarled. “He was a monster, and so are you. Come any closer and I will kill you.” He swung the candlestick in front of him, not caring that it wouldn’t be of much use against the king’s magic. He meant every word.  
Galbatorix shook his head in mocked frustration. “My own godson, corrupted by rebels,” he said, voice suddenly so cold it gave Murtagh chills. “Consider your next move carefully, boy. Look around you,” he made a gesture to the grand chamber, “I could give you everything you’d ever want. Join me, and I’ll let this offence slide.”  
Murtagh braced himself. “I will never join a madman,” he said and spat in the king’s direction.  
A small smirk tugged at Galbatorix’s lips. “How disappointing,” he said, then he raised his voice. “Durza!”  
The door behind Murtagh opened, and he spun around in time to see the shade enter.  
“Yes, your Majesty?” it said with a low bow.  
“Take our young friend to the dungeons. I’ll be there shortly.”

Murtagh felt as if he was going insane. His world was a turmoil of pain and darkness that never seemed to end. He didn’t know how much time had passed, and had soon given up trying to count the days. The king’s visits were irregular, keeping him in constant fear. Sometimes several days passed, and sometimes only a couple of hours. In the beginning, there was only the pain, inflicted either by tools or magic. That, at least, Murtagh could handle. He took to dreaming himself away during the worst times, letting his thoughts wander back to Carvahall, to Brom, and sometimes even his mother. Then Galbatorix started to break his mind. No matter how well Brom had trained him, there was no way Murtagh could have prepared for this. The attacks varied – sometimes the kings simply hammered at his walls with all his strength, and sometimes he showed up when Murtagh at least expected it and tried to find a weakness to slip in through. The shade – Durza – usually assisted the king. Even though he wasn’t as powerful as Galbatorix, Murtagh soon feared him just as much. The creature had an unnatural talent for inflicting pain, and unlike the king he seemed to enjoy himself greatly during the sessions.   
Murtagh was slipping, he could feel it. He longed for the chains around his wrists and ankles to fall off so that he could stand up, for seeing the daylight again, and for the pain to stop. The only thing keeping him from giving in was the thought of Brom. There was no way Murtagh could let the man down after everything he had sacrificed to keep his ward safe. Murtagh would not give in. He would not turn into his father, if only for Brom’s sake.  
Somehow that thought gave him the strength to continue resisting his tormentors’ attempts at breaking into his mind. Then, his world was turned upside down as the king entered his cell, placed a shining red stone in front of him and then left without a word.


	5. Chapter 5

When Brom laid eyes on the half-open door, he knew that something was wrong. Murtagh never left it open when he wasn’t home, and there was no reason for it to be flapping in the wind. A dreadful feeling overtook the former Rider as he dismounted Snowfire, who snorted loudly. The horse could sense that something was out of the ordinary, and the anxious creature confirmed Brom’s fears. He wanted to rush into the house, terrified of what he would find, but the sensible side of him forced him to slow down. Swiftly Brom pulled a dagger out of his belt and pulled the door open, preparing himself for the worst.   
Silence and emptiness was all that greeted him. There was no sign of Murtagh, or anyone else. Maybe there’s a simple explanation, Brom thought to himself, but he sincerely doubted it. The house was out of place – a chair pushed back, mud on the floor.   
With panic threatening to surge Brom entered Murtagh’s room. It was empty, the knife he’d instructed Murtagh to keep under his bed at all times laying on the floor.   
Gone. The boy was gone, and it was all Brom’s fault. He should never have let Arya come to Carvahall. It had never crossed his mind that in the search for the egg, Galbatorix’s agents might find Murtagh instead. They had been careful – they had put up all the wards they could think of, and had met half a day’s ride away from the village. Brom cursed himself for being so stupid.   
If Murtagh had been taken by Durza, there was little Brom could do to save him, especially if he was accompanied by urgals. On his own, Brom’s chances of defeating a shade were small at best, and Durza had the advantage of being able to use Murtagh as leverage. It would only put Murtagh in even more danger. Brom could not ask Arya to turn back and help him – she had to get the egg to safety.   
He had to look at the bigger picture. If Murtagh was taken to Galbatorix, he would eventually give in to the king. It was inevitable. Brom had at first hand seen the power and control Galbatorix possessed over his subjects, and in the wrong hands Murtagh would become a very dangerous weapon.  
He couldn’t rescue the boy on his own. He needed the Varden. Making the decision was one of the most difficult things Brom had ever done, but he saw no other option. The shade had a head start, and Brom’s horse was already tired from the hurried journey to meet Arya. Even if Brom managed to catch up, the odds of him actually managing to defeat Durza on his own during the circumstances were almost non-existent. There was no one else he could ask for help – after all, who would risk their life for the son of Morzan? Convincing Ajihad to give his support would be hard enough, but after everything Brom had done for the freedom fighters they owed him.  
With a heavy heart Brom left his ward’s room and ventured into his own. After removing a couple of loose floorboards he picked up a dusty sword that had been carefully hidden beneath the floor. Zar’roc. Brom had never told Murtagh that he’d taken the sword from Morzan’s corpse, dreading the painful memories it might bring up. He had done his best to keep reminders of their old lives far away, but now it seemed the efforts had been all for nothing.  
Snowfire seemed surprised when Brom remounted, but willingly took off once again when the rider urged him forward.

Reaching the Beor Mountains took more time than Brom would have liked. He stayed away from the roads, and the young Snowfire could only keep a high pace for so long. Despite knowing better, Brom couldn’t help but to keep a lookout for Murtagh on the way, praying that he had found some way of escaping. He passed closer to Urû’baen than was wise, letting his heart rather than his head guide him.   
Once the weary pair reached Farthen Dur Brom wasted no time seeking out Ajihad, who greeted him with a warmth not often seen from the usually stoic Varden leader. Two identical bald-headed magicians had tried to search his mind before entering, but a stern look from Ajihad stopped them. Brom immediately got a bad feeling regarding them and their attempts at shielding their intentions, but pushed it away for the moment. He could investigate the magicians later.  
As Brom had predicted, Ajihad was not pleased to hear about Brom’s whereabouts for the last eleven years. In fact, “not pleased” was putting it too kindly. He was furious.  
“Not a word from you for over a decade, even though you know we were struggling, and during all these years you have been raising the son of Morzan?”   
“He was just a child! Would you have preferred it if I left him to Galbatorix?” Brom growled back, memories of the frightened child the boy had been when Brom first met him resurfacing. Imagining him growing up under the tutelage of the king made Brom feel sick.  
“Well, it didn’t make much difference, did it?” Ajihad’s voice was cold. “What do you want me to do about it? Storm Urû’baen? The boy is out of our reach.”  
Brom gave him a stubborn look. “If we have to,” he replied, leaning forward. “The citadel has been too heavily guarded since the dragon egg was stolen – there is no way someone could sneak in and out with a prisoner. A rescue mission is out of the question,” his heart ached as he spoke the words, “but an attack isn’t. It’s time to act.”  
Ajihad raised an eyebrow. “Open war? There is no way I’m going to risk the survival of the Varden for the son of a Forsworn, even if he was raised by you.”  
Brom shook his head. “Not for him. The time is right – the Varden has been hiding for decades, and it’s not likely to get any stronger. Galbatorix is more vulnerable than ever, with no Forsworn left to defend him. He wouldn’t have made such a strong effort to find Murtagh if he didn’t believe that he would be important.”  
Ajihad leaned back in his chair. “Do you think the boy will become a Rider?”  
Brom nodded. “If not, he will make a formidable opponent anyway. Remember the power of the Black Hand; with Galbatorix behind him Murtagh can become just as powerful. If we go to war now, we might be able to defeat the Empire before he reaches his full potential. I don’t want to face a new Morzan.”  
The Varden leader seemed to agree. “To war it is then.”


End file.
